The Night Has a Thousand Eyes
by Parthenon15
Summary: Sometimes ideas are the best things to steal. Olaf enters the dream extraction business and is offered a task where he must enter the mind of his biggest enemy but what he doesn't know is that his biggest enemy is himself. Crossover with Inception.*CHAPTER 2 IS UP*
1. Intro

"Verisimilitude," Olaf explained, walking down the streets of his mind . "We need them to believe in that."

Violet was confused. She was investigating the world around her, how it actively shifted, a brain at work. "In what?"

"That this dimension is reality. That they have control of their fate."

"For what?"

"To forget, to start over, to initiate a catharsis."

"Why would they need that?"

"People have a lot of baggage to carry. At some point, they're so tired; they need to hide their past."

"What are you hiding?" She said, now walking backwards, looking up at the blur of patterns up on the sky.

"What are you talking about?" Olaf asked.

"I've seen you. I see that you're invested time in that machine. What do you want to forget?"

"Well," Olaf sighed. "That's a different story."


	2. First Phase Gone Wrong

**If you're not familiar with nonlinear stories, this is one of them. The different sections are set in three different places, keep track of the changes in points of view. Any questions are welcome.**

The black night was sprinkled with glistening stars, below it the sea reached the pulverized shore, churning dark waves crashing powerfully and returning to its home. A pair of shining eyes gazed at the scenery before him. Olaf reached for the cigarette box in his front pocket and shook one out.

His tired hands were sheltered in his pockets, and felt the cold touch of the lighter. He pulled it out and rolled the etched metal wheel and a spurt of fire was released, suspended in midair. Olaf blew it away, hiding the lighter back, throwing out the thin white tube to oblivion.

* * *

A flashing shoe fell from a foot, heading towards the pavement. A woman dressed in a flowing red gown sat upon the window ledge, looking down at the shoe's demise. The wind carried the woman's blonde hair in front of her face, unrecognizable, unknown to his memory.

* * *

He grunted and put his hands onto the railing of the balcony, closing his eyes, thinking of the mission.

A young man clad in a clean suit walked out the dull emerald room and searched for Olaf. His hands were replaced with sharp hooks, his hair parted to the side, keeping a sharp look as well as his comrade. He walked towards Olaf, and looked to his left to find the tiles of the roof tumbling to powder.

"Boss," Fernald said, poking his hook on Olaf's arm. "Boss, he's seated there."

Olaf turned around, and saw the rows of tables, maids carrying plates of food, carpenters on the second floor, hammering nails in the age old wood. Some of the nails slipped from their mouths, clinking on the floor. The bustling conversation buzzed from the walls, and from afar there was a man cloaked in smoke, and other men in suits laughing simultaneously.

"This time you let me talk." Olaf threatened to Fernald.

"That wasn't part of the plan-" Fernald murmured.

"I know how this guy thinks; you just act as my assistant."

"Olaf this is serious stuff; I'm not going to let you screw it up."

"Trust me, I'm trying to focus. How much time do we have?" Olaf said, ignoring Fernald's remark.

Fernald slid back his sleeve and saw the watch ticking regularly. He stared at it for a while longer and without notice, the second hand started ticking backwards.

"We have plenty of it. The other layer has around two minutes."

"Perfect." Olaf grinned, adjusting his suit. "Time to steal another fortune."

They entered the polished green wooden space, saws posed as back supports on chairs, tables disguised in white cloth, the light fixtures suspended in the air. Olaf darted his eyes and saw a cluster of guards playing common folk and made a mental note. Olaf and Fernald came around the table masked in smoke and started shaking hands with the other guests.

Olaf came to mysterious man first and shook his hand. "How are you doing, Sir?"

"Do I know you?" Sir asked

"No, I don't think we've met. Gee, I hate to interrupt your dinner-"

"Just spit it out. I've got business to take care of."

"Well, I think my associate and I have a great security offer to propose."

"Security?"

"Special security. Care to have the conversation in another room?"

Sir blew smoke toward Olaf and investigated his reaction. Olaf still held his composure but jolted as the lamps shook, the ceiling releasing a few debris on the floor.

"Charles!" Sir yelled.

A skinny, short man with his hair parted to the side, and his eyes protected by a pair of spectacles answered. "Yes, Sir?"

"Take my place; I'm going with these gentlemen."

Charles inspected Fernald and Olaf. "Are you sure, Sir?"

"Of course I am! I'm not an idiot!"

Sir already had a head start walking toward a two double door room, painted in the image of a forest, scattered shades of green, nymphs and satyrs chasing each other.

"So this special security, what exactly makes it special?"

* * *

Light seeped in through the shades, lines of pale yellow and black enveloped Olaf's body. Olaf sat on a chair atop a thick square pedestal, sleeping, a clear cord slithering and biting into his wrinkled skin. A bald man took off his jacket and pulled up his sleeves in the heat infested apartment room. He went towards the curtains and peeked out, watching a mob of men flooding toward the building he was in. His brow was sweating, walking over to Olaf to check his pulse. He turned to another room, where Sir was lying on a bed, the same cord inside the back of his hand. The bald man took the liberty to check Sir's eyes, lifting the eyelids with his thumbs. Fernald was sitting on a lonesome chair, his head back, his legs atop a coffee table, the same cord in his arm, trailing back to a machine with a button in the middle, air compressors steaming up and down as the dreamers slept.

* * *

Fernald looked at Olaf and the doors opened to polished room with a long rectangular table, and a plate of food sitting at the end of it. Two guards were posed on either side.

"Well, let me ask you something. Do know what is the most resilient parasite?"

"Parasite? I've got a bunch of termites eating up the rotten wood back in my factory."

Fernald smiled. "That's a good try but, resilient means it's invincible, strong, and somewhat immortal."

"I know what it means! I'm not an idiot!"

Fernald cut in, fearing the plan would go out of hand. "What my colleague is saying-"

"An idea." Olaf finished.

Sir propped his elbows on the table, putting aside his cigar, and picking up the fork to grab a bite from his plate.

"An idea is where all these characteristics are present. It can never leave the mind, once it's planted not thinking about it is impossible."

"What about information? Can you forget that?" Sir asked.

"Of course, but an idea and fully understood that lives and breathes in the person's head will always be present."

"And this security, does this protect from thieves who steal ideas?"

"Yes, in R.E.M. sleep," Fernald said. "Our conscious resistances are vulnerable therefore prone to extracting."

"Well, what do you guarantee? What do I have to do to make this permanent?"

"That's where you hire an extractor, one that teaches you how to defend yourself." Olaf added.

"Why would I do that? I'm not an idiot!"

"Of course not, but Sir, you're speaking to the best extractor in the industry. In order for this to work you need to show me where your secrets are so you can start exercising your defenses."

Sir contemplates Olaf's proposal.

"What do you say, Sir? Are we in for a deal?" Fernald asked.

Sir stands up from the table. "I'll think about it. Enjoy your stay, help yourself."

A guard opens the doors for him and Sir leaves, entering the bustling party.

Fernald looked at Olaf. "He knows. What are we supposed to do?"

"I'll find the safe eventually."

The ceiling shuddered, the whole room shook in response, and Fernald grabbed a hold of his chair. "What is going on up there?" He checked his watch again to make sure when the kick to the next layer was up but the second watch stood immobile.

* * *

An explosion burst outside the building, lighting up a car, men banging on the old vehicle. The bald man shook off his jitters, maintaining watch.

* * *

The bald man slept with headphones on, the train taking on full speed. His companions were there seated next to him in plush chairs, only the androgynous person checked it's watch. In its other hand, it had the music player, one finger poised over the play button.

* * *

Another detonation erupted in the decaying building, the influx men coming forth the room. The bald man sat down on a chair, his hands covering his face.

* * *

Coming out of the party, Fernald and Olaf walked together among the other projections, figments of Fernald's imagination. Olaf grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter and chugged it down. On the corner of his eye, he caught the figure of a familiar woman, her hair tied in a bun, a satin shawl over her shoulders, her knee length dress tugged by the wind.

"What is she doing here?" Fernald asked.

"I'll take care of her. Be on your post and distract Charles."

"Time is running out," Fernald warned, his hook clinked with his watch. "She shouldn't be here."

Fernald took the opposite direction and Olaf slowly walked to the woman, turning around to catch a glance.

"Don't you think Anwhistle Aquatics would have survived in this ocean?" the woman asked, looking at the black expanse of moving space.

"What's the difference? It's gone for good." Olaf answered. "Why are you here, Kit?"

Kit smiled and pushed back her glasses. "You've probably missed me."

Olaf looked at her, taking in her beauty. "I have, but you need to leave."

"Or what?" Kit said, leaning towards him. "Come on, I'll walk with you."

* * *

Olaf pushed the switch next to him, the lights lying awake. The room was painted in dull blue, rugs were scattered everywhere, one circular window looked over the night. Kit's heels stomped on the wooden floorboards, taking off her shawl, putting it on an armchair. She served herself hot water in a cup and a little bag of dried tea leaves. Olaf took out a swirl of rope from under a plump couch and quickly tied it to the couch's support.

"I see Fernald is working for you." Kit mentioned, turning around, dipping the bag of tea in her cup. "How do you know he's loyal to you or the organization?"

"You're wrong, he works on his own account. I'm simply a mentor of sorts." Olaf said while extending the rope and opening the window. "If he can't have the courage to set fires and face the consequences, this should be his area of expertise."

"The boy was in fear, darling-"

"Don't call me darling."

"How is Beatrice doing?"

Olaf stopped his work and looked up at her. "She asks for you quite a lot."

"And what do you say?"

Olaf squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the question. "Where are you supposed to be Kit?"

"Nowhere and everywhere." Kit answered. "Where are you supposed to be?"

"Getting some fresh air." Olaf said while escaping the room and tying the rope around his waist. "I'm getting too old for this."

He lowers himself down to another circular window, and struggles to get a knife from his pocket. Suddenly, he drops a few more feet. He looks up. "God damn it." He climbs on the rope while the knife is between his teeth. Twisting his feet together, he grabs the knife with his other hand and draws a deep cut in the glass. He kicks the glass in and it shatters on the floor. Stepping lightly on the surface, he unties himself and searches for his gun. Silently, he looks to his left and right and catches a guard walking away from him. Olaf aims and shoots, all absence of noise makes the guard fall to ground.

Olaf continues to walk, turning corners, the dimensions shifting upside down until, and his figure walks on the ceiling, another set of rooms are available with the same mural of mythological beings present. Opening the door, he found himself searching for a hollow space on the walls. Lightly tapping on a certain wooden panel, the noise echoed behind it. Olaf grinned, his eyes shining again. "Jackpot."

His fingers ran down the panel and found a bronze handle. He pulled it open and inside was black velvet fabric covering the space, a safe in the center of the pedestal. Olaf turned the knob, rolling backwards and going clockwise. The lock clicked open, revealing a box of tinted green cigars. Olaf only needed one to read Sir's secret. He pulled out another green cigar from his suit pocket and replaced it.

A burst of light interrupted Olaf's operation.

Sir voice reverberated. "I didn't give you permission yet Mr. Olaf."

Olaf slowly peeked out from the safe door, and saw Kit pointing at Fernald whom was trapped in the hands of another guard.

"Put the gun on the table." Kit ordered.

Olaf took the gun and set it down on the polished surface, raising his arms. "You're making a mistake, Sir."

"A mistake? I'm not an idiot! Give me back the cigar, and you're free to go with your pathetic sidekick." Sir said. "Who do you work for?"

Kit shifted her aim to Fernald's knee.

"Kit, you're missing the point." Olaf added.

"Really? Fernald do you think this hurts?" Kit said, shooting straight on, Fernald yelling in agony.

"No? How about this?" Kit continued.

Olaf grabbed the gun and immediately shot Fernald to sleep, the building shifting over to the side, all objects rushing to the left side of the room.

* * *

The hook-handed man woke up, angry and nervous. "Crap!"

The bald man came over, startled. "What are you doing? It's still not time."

"Blame it on him! " Fernald gestured to Olaf. "Wake him up!" He pulled out the cord out of his arm, and went back to the machine hissing chemicals, Sir moving his head to the side.

* * *

Olaf escapes from the room, the ceiling crumbling to pieces. Chaos ensures the rush of confusion, Sir yelling over to the guards. "Get him!"

Olaf turns to the right, where the great hall was present, statues of carpenters frozen in time, cutting logs and refining the textures of wood. All guests disappeared, the cold isolation made Olaf concentrate. While running, he carefully unrolls the cigar, ink forming letters and codes. His eyes feasted over the information, taking it all in. The statues shuddered. Olaf looked up at the ceiling, finding waves of salt water invading the hall.

* * *

The bald man threw his boss next to a tub, the ice cold water enveloping him, stirring his eyes open. He came back for air, his clothes drenched in water. "The hell was that for?!" he yelled. He got out of the tub clumsily, taking out his gun, watching Sir already poised with his own gun.

"How do you know about this room? Answer me!" Sir said. Fernald took another peek out the window, the mob coming in waves, their screams getting louder.

"Your partner would say anything as long as he wouldn't get caught. I recommend you take up another trustworthy colleague."

"How…" Sir said, wondering what Olaf told him. He held his composure. "Well, what do you want now?"

"Besides putting the faith on the wrong people, you sure do know how to hide secrets. Correct me if I'm wrong." Olaf said.

* * *

The androgynous looked at the bald man and pressed the play button, evoking a song, strings belting out their harmony, a man's voice singing "Cause the night has a thousand eyes, and a thousand eyes can't help but see…"

* * *

The bald man heard the echo of the song and looked at Fernald. He shook his head.

"No matter what, Olaf, you have failed at your job, your loyalty, your mar-"

"Enough about me, Sir. You've got less than ten seconds to tell me everything." Olaf warned.

Sir blew out a swirl of smoke and laughed. "What's the point? I'm not going to die in my dream."

"I wouldn't say that mister. See, this is my dream." The bald man said, the door of the apartment broke open, raging men grabbing the bald man in the midst of anarchy. Olaf looked back at Fernald, but his existence has gone.

* * *

Fernald wakes up. The androgynous man surprised at him said, "Isn't Flacutono supposed to wake up?"

"Forget it. We've failed. Go on, pack your things, we're heading out."

"What about the boss?"

"He can take care of himself." Fernald answered, pulling out his suitcase. Olaf and Flacutono opened their eyes. Olaf sighed, ripping out the cord.

"What the hell was that?" Fernald yelled at Flacutono. "You didn't do your job!"

"I'm not some damn ticking bomb! I swear I kept time." The bald man said, putting back the cord with the machine.

"I'm getting out of here, we can't be seen together." Olaf said. "Hooky, are you going back to the hotel?"

"Yeah." He said miserably.

Olaf nodded. "No guarantees that we'll get out of the hospital's clutches. We're going to have to disappear before Babs asks for us." Olaf and Fernald walked through the hall.

"Where are you headed?" Fernald asked.

"I don't know yet. Just want to get out of this train."

* * *

Sir opened his eyes, looking at the swirl of smoke before him. He saw that the other passengers in his compartment were gone; he looked down and saw his sleeves raised. He touched his arm looking for any signs of a puncture. A maid came by and stopped towards him. "Is everything alright, sir?

"All that we see is but a dream within a dream." Sir quoted. The maid arched her eyebrow, walking away, confused.


End file.
